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French’s International Copyrighted (in England, her Col- 
onies, and the United States) Edition of the 
Works of the Best Authors 


No. 433 


TATTERS 

A CHARACTER SKETCH 

BY 

R!CHARD BURTON 


All Rights Reserved 

Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 


Price 30 Cents 


New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 
Publisher 

1 28-30 West 38th Street 


London 

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THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, 6 
females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. 

This is a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for “Aunt 
Mary,’’ “Jack,” her lively nephew; “Lucinda,” a New England an- 
cient maid of all work; “Jack’s” three chums; the Girl “Jack” loves; 
“Joshua,” Aunt Mary’s hired man, etc. 

“Aunt Mary” was played by May Robson in New York and on tour 
for over two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever pro- 
duced. We strongly recommend it. Price, 60 Cents. 


MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A pleasing comedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of 
“The Tailor-Made Man.” 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2Y\ hours. 

Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complications arising 
from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
peopled by hyphenated names — a theme permitting innumerable com- 
plications, according to the spirit of the writer. 

This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
Fiske with enormous success. Price, 60 Cents. 


MRS. TEMPLE’S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and Wil- 
liam Morris. 5 males, 4 females. One interior scene stands through- 
out the three acts. Costumes modern. Plays 2 ]/ 2 hours. 

"Mrs. Temple’s Telegram” is a sprightly farce in which there is 
an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any ©le- 
nient of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, “Oh, what a 
tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” 

There is not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time 
the curtain rises until it makes the final drop the fun is fast and 
furious. A very exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. 


THE NEW CO-ED. 

A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of “Tempest and 
Sunshine,” etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number 
of boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One 
interior and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one inte- 
rior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 

The theme xA this play is the coming of a new student to the col- 
lie, her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. 

There are three especially good girls’ parts, Letty, Madge and 
Estelle, but the others have plenty to do. “Punch” Doolittle and 
George Washington Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly 
good comedy characters. We can strongly recommend “The New 
Co-Ed” to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 


SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 


i 


TATTERS 

A Character Sketch 

By / 

RICHARD BURTON » 


All Rights Reserved 


Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 


New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 


London 

SAMUEL FRENCH. Ltd. 
2(> Southampton Street 
STRAND 





-p£> |Z21 

B</T3 


/‘V 




All Rights Reserved 

“TATTERS” is fully protected by copyright, and all rights 
are reserved. 

Permission to act, to read publicly, or to make use of this 
play must be obtained from Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th 
Street, New York. 

It may be presented by amateurs upon payment of a royalty 
of five dollars for each performance, payable to Samuel 
French one week before the date when the play is given. 

Professional rates quoted on application. 

Whenever this play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
play: “Produced by special arrangement with Samuel French 
of New York.” 



NOV -i 72 

©ci.d <>203:? (y 


PERSONS 


Judge Brown. Of the Juvenile Court 

Phillips A police officer 

Pete A reclaimed hoodlum 

Tatters A “tough kid 


'3 






TATTERS 


A lawyer's chambers, in a typical American city, in 
a targe, high-ceiled room with plain, dignified 
$olid oak furnishings, the side walls lined half 
way up with legal volumes in book-cases. Sev- 
eral portraits of members of the bar and bench 
are on the walls. At the right is a good-sized 
flat writing table, strewn with legal papers. At 
the back is a bozv window, with the middle sash 
open, showing a fire escape outside. A com- 
fortable leather-covered sofa is at the left with 
a chair near it. Another chair is near the zvrit- 
ing table. At the left there is a small table hold- 
ing a type-zvriting machine. A door at the left 
opens into a hall. Judge Brown, a kindly look- 
ing man of about fifty-five, hair iron gray, wear- 
ing black clothes, is seated writing at the table. 
Pete, about fifteen, is busy putting the room in 
order . He is dressed in a neat office uniform, 
and looks self-respecting and happy , though with 
touches of his past in speech and carriage. 

Judge. (Picking up a letter from his desk) 
Billy Tellers seems to be doing splendidly up at 
Hopehill, Pete. (Pete comes down to him as the 
Judge reads and comments.) “Made captain of his 
company, and was the hero of Saturday’s baseball 
game ; has developed into a remarkable pitcher — his 
curves are the envy of the whole place.” ( He 
chuckles.) 


5 


6 


TATTERS 


Pete. Billy had a dandy spitball when he was 
with us kids, Judge. And, Gee, his curves was sum- 
pin’ fierce ! 

Judge. So that’s the kind of crooked work he’s 
doing now, is it? (He picks up another paper from 
the desk and scrutinizes it with a frozvn.) H’m ! 
Jake’s in the pen again. That boy would be all 
right if he could only overcome his periodic de- 
sire to jump his job and take to the road. 

Pete. (Much interested) Humph! That Jake 
feller dunno when he’s well off. He’s a quitter, 
he is. 

Judge. (Taking up another paper) Here’s Mr. 
Staples’ report on that larger Fillmore fellow. (He 
reads.) “You never saw a bigger change in a 
shorter time than Fancy Fillmore shows ; he has 
entirely lost that hang-dog, shifty look he had when 
he first came up here.” (Musingly.) It’s queer 
how alike a man and a dog are: you try to stroke 
one that’s been abused, he shrinks and cowers ; treat 
him well, and in a little he begins to wag his tail. 
(With a genial laugh.) You prove that. Don’t you, 
Pete? 

Pete. Yes siree ! Why, I ain’t afraid of nothin’ 
now — except of losin’ my place ! 

Judge. Oh, that’s safe. I was only thinking of 
the difference between you now and when you were 
traveling with the River Gang. 

Pete. I sure was a jay then — beg pardon, I mean 
I was certainly no good, sir. 

Judge. Enjoying life better nowadays, eh, Pete? 

Pete. Am I? Look at me — (Indicating his 
clothes.) But you can’t look inside of me — that’s 
the most difference. 

Judge. ( Cheerily) You’re a comfort, Pete. 
When I get discouraged over a particularly hard 
case, I cheer up on you. (A knock at the door is 


TATTERS 


7 

heard.) Come in! (The door opens. A Police 
Officer enters, stands at the door, and respectfully 
touches his hat. Pete, saluting the officer genially, 
goes hack to his zvork.) 

Officer. (Approaching) Good morning, yer 
honor. 

Judge. (Leaning hack in his pivot chair) Well, 
what is it this morning? 

Officer. (Pointing toward the door) I’ve got 
that feller Tatters outside; was takin’ him to the 
court, but supposed you’d want to have a look at 
him, as you generally do. Will you see him ? 

Judge. Yes, certainly. (Officer turns to go.) 
Oh, Phillips, this Tatters has an unusually bad rec- 
ord, hasn’t he? 

Officer. That he has, Judge. Jugged two or 
three times for plain drunks and vagrancy and 
sneak-thieving, too. His photo’s in the gallery, all 
right. And now the other night he nigh to blew 
his head off trying to pour dynamite into a safe ; 
reg’lar young yeggman, he is — dangerous to have 
loose, yer honor. 

Judge. Yes, I know. How old is he? 

Officer. Sixteen, maybe. 

Judge. H’m ! Pm glad of that. 

Officer. (Puzzled) You’re glad? How do you 
mean, sir? 

Judge. He isn’t too old for the Juvenile Court: 
the Grandpa’s Court, as my dear enemies call it. 
(He chuckles.) I may be able to get him into my 
school up at Hopehill. 

Officer. Not if you leave it to him, yer honor. 

Judge. I certainly shall leave it to him. Show 
him in, Phillips. 

Officer. (He has started to go, hut wheels 
around as if in protest) Beg pardon, Judge, but — 
I hope yer won’t be too kind o’ trusting with Tat- 


8 TATTERS 

ters ; he’s a tough if ever there was one. It ain’t 
safe, sir. 

Judge. Phillips, haven’t you yet noticed that my 
principle in dealing with these fellows is to trust 
them ; and with nine out of ten in proportion as I do 
trust them, they act on the square. 

Officer. (Shrugging his shoulders , and touch- 
ing his cap) Oh, very well, yer Honor. (He goes 
out.) 

Judge. Sixteen, and an extra had record. H’m ! 
A test case for my theory. The Lord help him — 
and me! (Half sadly, half humorously) Pete will 
help me, anyway, if the Lord won’t. (There is a 
knock at the door.) Come in! (Phillips enters 
with Tatters. Tatters is hand-cuffed, about six- 
teen and a tough specimen; dirty , ragged, sullen; 
face not naturally ignoble but the battleground of 
evil forces; big; hulking; strong. He stands a little 
behind Phillips, who precedes him into the room 
and stands, military fashion, as Tatters hesitantly 
enters. Phillips motions him to approach the 
Judge. ) 

Judge. All right, Phillips, you may go. Wait a 
moment. (He sees the handcuffs on Tatters . ) 
You may take off those handcuffs before you leave, 
please. 

Phillips. (Hesitating, aside to Judge) I wouldn’t 
pull off them bracelets, yer Honor. 

Judge. You can’t tell a man you trust him, with 
a chain on him like that, that gives you the lie — 
my orders, Phillips! (Phillips reluctantly obeys , 
then leaves the room, shaking his head. Pete has 
shown lively curiosity at the entrance of Tatters, 
who throws a contemptuous nod at him, showing 
they are acquainted. The Judge sees they know 
each other.) Pete, is this a friend of yours? You 
might introduce me. 


TATTERS 


9 


Pete. ( Shortly) Humph ! Used to know him. 
(To Tatters,) How’s your face, Tatters? This -is 
the Judge — Judge Brown of the Juvenile Court — the 
best ever. (Nearer to Tatters, in a lower tone) 
Take off your cap, you big mug! (Tatters makes 
a sort of inhibited gesture toward his cap, then takes 
it off and half bozos, and stands sullen and awkzvard.) 

Judge. Glad to meet you, Tatters. Take a seat — 
both of you. (He indicates the sofa. Since enter- 
ing, Tatters has been casting frequent furtive 
glances at the open window at the back, as if meas- 
uring the distance. Nozv he gives one quick, im- 
pulsive step toward it. Pete makes a movement to 
stop him.) 

Judge. (Sharp, imperative) Stop, Pete ! (There 
is a pause.) Tatters, if you want to escape by that 
window, you are at perfect liberty to do so. 

Tatter. (He pulls back a step, astonished) Wot’s 
that ? 

Judge. I mean what I say. You can go — and so 
far as I am concerned, without being stopped. Of 
course, you’d probably be caught before you had 
gone a hundred yards. But I shan’t lift my finger 
to stop you, personally; you’re a free agent in this 
room. That’s why I had the handcuffs taken off: 
so you could be free to act. 

Tatters. It’s a trick. 

Judge. No trick at all. I hope you won’t run 
away. I want to talk with you, on the level, as a 
friend. 

Tatters. (Sneering) Friend — nothin’! (He 
stands irresolute, then makes a dash for the win- 
dow, throws one leg over the sill, one hand up to 
the sash, so as to slam it down after he is out.) 

Judge. (Rising. In clear , low, firm voice) I 
want to help you, Tatters, remember that. (Tat- 
ters, impressed in spite of himself, hesitates a mo- 


10 


TATTERS 


ment } then steps slowly inside the zvindow; slams 
it down, breathing hard . Pete shows signs of satis- 
faction. The Judge, tension off, sinking back in 
chair , speaks quietly.) Thank you, Tatters. Now, 
take a seat here. (Pointing to the chair near his 
desk.) Tell me all about it. 

Tatters. (Still sullen, he slowly approaches and 
sits down) ’Bout wot? 

Judge. About your troubles ; what you’ve done 
to get a sentence? 

Tatters. (Suspicioysly) I ain’t goin’ to snitch 
on nobody. 

Judge. (Promptly ) .That's right. We’ve got no 
use for snitchers here. The only person to snitch 
on is yourself. Tell me what you’ve done, and why 
you did it. 

Tatters. What do you want to know fer? 

Judge. I may be able to help. I’d like to help 
you, Tatters, if you’d let me. I can’t help a fellow, 
you see, unless he’ll work with me himself. 

Tatters. (Pointing to the zvindow) Well, I 
didn’t duck, did I? 

Judge. No, and I’m mighty glad of it. It shows 
you believe what I say. Who were your father 
and mother? 

Tatters. Don’t know; never had none. 

Judge. Been on the streets all your life, eh? 

Tatters. Yep. 

Judge. How did you live ? 

Tatters. Oh, any old way. Bummed it, hoboed 
some. (He smiles a bit.) Went on me travels, 
Jedge. 

Judge. (Taking the cue, genially) I see; trav- 
eled on the brake-beams. You don’t see so much 
scenery that way, but you get there. But that didn’t 
land you in jail, did it? 


TATTERS 


ii 


Tatter. Nope. I pinched a twenty in a bank 
down in Reno, Nevada. 

Judge. (Interested ) How was that? 

Tatters. (Warming with professional pride) 
Why, you see, boss — Jedge, I mean — I bought me a 
cane and a stick of chewing gum. Then I walks 
into de bank and up to de cage, and tells de guy 
w’at was standing there as how I wants work. And 
when he went to tell de main guy, I rams de gum 
onto de end of de cane, see, and runs it tru de hole 
and swipes de twenty, and sneaks; den I tries to 
hike out that night; but — ( Disgustedly ) — dey nails 
me just when I’d made a good getaway, too! 

Judge. That was the first. How many times 
since ? 

Tatters. Twict. Last time for touchin’ a saloon 
in the night. 

Judge. (Thoughtfully) Tatters, how would you 
like to go to Hopehill, my school, where they give 
you a square deal, and if you do well you have a 
first-class time? They have a military organization, 
baseball nines, plenty of outdoor work. 

Tatters. (Suspiciously) It’s a bull-pen, ain’t 
it, like the rest? 

Judge. Nothing of the sort. It’s a pleasant place 
where you study and exercise and have some social 
life. It’s up in the hills, and healthy. It isn’t a 
prison, not even a reformatory; just a school for 
folks like you that haven’t had a fair chance. 

Tatters. A school is a place where you play 
hookey from, ain’t it? 

Judge. (Smiling) Well, that’s one definition. 
But I think you would like Hopehill, Tatters. 

Tatters. (Grimly) If I don’t, I guess I’ll have 
to go if you say so. 

Judge. Oh, no, you won’t. 

Tatters. Wot’s that? 


T 2 


TATTERS 


Judge. Nobody goes to Hopehill except of his 
own free will. When you promise to go, I arrange 
it with the police court, and money is furnished you 
and you go quite alone. It’s considerable of a trip ; 
you take three lines of railway and it takes a day 
and a night to get there. You have all kinds of 
chances to escape. 

Tatters. (Almost speechless with amazement ) 
You mean to tell me, Jedge, you gives me money 
and trusts me to go to dat place? 

Judge. That’s how, Tatters. 

Tatters. (Turning to Pete, who on the sofa has 
been deeply interested in the conversation) Is dat 
straight, Pete? 

Pete. Sure, it is, and Sandy McAllister and 
Little Harry and — and lots o’ the kids has gone. 

Tatters. (Slowly, half to himself) Well, I’ll 
be ! 

Judge. Yes, a lot of fellows have done it already 
— and liked it, too. You liked it, didn’t you, Pete? 

Pete. (Eager to give testimony) ’Deed I did, 
Judge. It’s great up there. Say, but it took nerve, 
though, to leave the River Gang and take the train 
that day. And then when I got to Hopehill, to hit 
the road up that long hill till I come to the school. 
But ’twas a fine place, all right, all right. 

Judge. You know, Tatters, how well Pete is 
doing now. He’s got a steady job, is saving money, 
and everybody trusts him. No one trusted him but 
me at first. Will you give me a chance to help 
you? Will you go to Hopehill, if I can fix it with 
the authorities? 

Tatters. (As if half -convinced, slowly ) I’ll 
think it over. (There is a knock at the door.) 

Judge. Come in! (Phillips enters.) What is 
it, Phillips? (Phillips crosses to the Judge and 
zvhispers to him. The Judge nods and rises.) All 


TATTERS 


13 

right, I’ll step in there a moment and see. (To the 
bOys) Sit down and wait for me, Tatters. Pete 
will do the honors. I’ll be back in a minute or so. 

Phillips. Hadn’t I better stay, and 

Judge. (To him as they go out) No, they’ll be 
safe alone. It’s part of my experiment. (Both go 
out and Pete and Tatters come together.) 

Tatters. What’s the guy’s game, anyway? 

Pete. He’s a friend. He stands in with you 
against the cops. 

Tatters. Humph! What’s there in it fer him? 

Pete. Nothin’, I guess. He’s just a — a friend, 
like we used to he together. He’s great, the Judge 
is. 

Tatters. ( Grudgingly ) Oh, he may be all right 
enough. (He begins to look back longingly at the 
windozv.) But I’m sorry I told him wot I did. (Con- 
temptuously ) I ain’t going to no school ! I’d look 
fine, wouldn’t I, sittin’ in with a bunch of lulus, 
sayin’ me prayers, like as not, and learnin’ me let- 
ters off a blackboard ? God ! I guess nit ! 

Pete. No, ’tain’t a bit like that, honest. 

Tatters. (With sudden determination ) Well, 
now look at here, Pete, I ain’t goin’ to lose no such 
chance as this. If that feller is damn fool enough 
to leave me like this and that there window a dead- 
easy get-away, I uses it, see? 

Pete. No, you don’t. 

Tatters. (Savagely) Why not? 

Pete. I’ll stop you. 

Tatters. The devil you will! I can chew you 
up, and leave my hands free. 

Pete. I’ll get help if I have to. 

Tatters. I thought you and me was pals onct? 

Pete. That’s why I do it. 

Tatters. Why shouldn’t I skip? Wot do I owe 


TATTERS 


14 

him? He talks smooth, but he’s only a stiff wot sits 
in a box and gives yer “time.” 

Pete. No, he isn’t ; he’s a friend and you know it, 
you big chump. 

Tatters. Well, he ain’t as bad. perhaps, as the 
rest of ’em ; but, by God ! I hate ’em all ! 

Pete. He don’t hate you. If you skipped out of 
that window he’d feel mighty bad in his solar 
plexus. 

Tatters. You believe that? Bv God, I don’t! 

Pete. I know it. He loves us kids just like his 
own, and when we throw him down, it breaks him 
all up. 

Tatters. (Slowly) If I thought that 

Pete. (Struck with sudden thought) I can prove 
it ! 

Tatters. How do yer mean? 

Pete. You get behind that finger machine, and 

when he comes in he’ll think you’ve skipped, and 

I’ll give him a spiel about it. Here, I’ll open the 

window. (He does so.) Then you can see how 

he’ll take it. Hurry up, or he’ll be back. St ! there 
he is now. (After a second's hesitation , Tatters 
hurries behind the typewriter table and hides. Pete 
resumes seat on sofa. The Judge enters and goes 
toward the desk.) 

Judge. Now, then, Pete — (He stops . missing 
Tatters ; sees the open window, then shakes his 
head slowly.) So, Pete, he went, did he? 

Pete. It looks like he’d flew the coop, Judge. 
Sometimes a feller just naturally has to — gets the 
itch in his legs. 

Judge. Yes, sometimes it is like that. 

Pete. (Cheerfully) So he hiked. Look how the 
window’s open ! 

Judge. You seem pleased rather than otherwise, 
Pete. 


TATTERS 


15 

Pete. (Suddenly sober) No, I’m not. I’m aw- 
ful sorry for you, Judge. I always said Tatters was 
the limit, anyway. (Showing secret amusement.) 

Judge. (Sadly) My test failed this time, didn’t 
it? Well, the town will rejoice, that is one thing. 
It seems to wish nothing so much as to disprove 
my faith in human nature. I’ll have to give up my 
motto, Pete, ; f this keeps on. 

Pete. What motto’s that, sir ? 

Judge. Don’t you remember what Little Harry, 
of the River Gang, said that day when six of the 
boys kept their promise to me about being square — 
six out of a possible seven — and they licked the 
seventh, Sandy, too, for failing me? Little Harry 
said : “Judge, there ain’t no really bad kids.” But 
I mustn’t sit here doing nothing. Pete, do you think 
there’s any chance Tatte'rs may weaken — give him- 
self up? I liked that chap. There’s good in him. 

Pete. (With surreptitious glance at Tatters’ 
hiding place ) Well, he might. 

Judge. Oh, well, we can always hope. I dare say 
I am an old ass. (With head on hands, elbozvs on 
table.) So he’s one of my mistakes. Poor old chap ! 
I thought I had won him. (Musingly) Well, 
Mother, you know I tried, any way. 

Pete. (Pricking up his ears at the word “moth- 
er”) Does — does your mother know about the boys, 
sir? I — I thought she was dead. 

Judge. She is, Pete. That’s why she knows 
about them. I promised her to save boys that were 
running wild in the streets like me. 

Pete. You, Judge? 

Judge. Yes — it was years ago, Pete, long before 
you were born. I was a bit wild, and only God’s 
mercy, and a good mother, kept me from perhaps 
landing where Tatters is. On her death-hed she 
made me promise to help all the little chaps, the 


i6 


TATTERS 


young, helpless things, the way she helped me. It 
was a sacred covenant, and I’ve kept it. But I’ve 
failed this time. 

Pete. Maybe not, sir. (He motions Tatters to 
act, then tiptoes out.) 

Tatters. (Slowly, shamefacedly he approaches 
the Judge, fingering his cap) Jedge! 

Judge. (Not looking up) Yes, Pete. (He 
wheels and sees Tatters.) You! Tatters! You 
came back ! You didn't go at all ? 

Tatters. I ain’t goin’ to tro’ you down. Jedge, 
honest to God. T ain’t. Ell go to Hopehill — if you 
say so. (He falls on his knees beside the Judge, 
sobbing convulsively.) 

Judge. (Very tenderly) That’s right. You’re 
going to be one of my boys. (Stroking Tatters’ 
hair) One of the best of ’em. Tatters, one of the 
best. 


The Touch-Down 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. 8 males, 6 females, but 
any number of characters can be introduced in the ensembles. Cos- 
tumes modern. One interior scene throughout the play. Time, 
hours. 

This play, written for the use of clever amateurs, is the story of 
life in Siddell, a Pennsylvania co-educational college. It deals with 
the vicissitudes and final triumph of the Siddell Football Eleven, and 
the humorous and dramatic incidents connected therewith. 

“The Touch-Down” has the true varsity atmosphere, college songs 
are sung, and the piece is lively and entertaining throughout. High 
schools will make no mistake in producing this play. We strongly 
recommend it as a high-class and well-written comedy. 

Price, 30 Cents. 

Hurry, Hurry, Hurry 

A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold. 5 males, 4 females. 
One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. 

The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates 
that her pretty niece must be affianced before she is twenty-one, and 
marned to her fiance within a year, if she is to get her spinster 
relative’s million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to tell 
daughter about the will, so that she may make her choice untram- 
meled by any other consideration than that of true love. The action 
all takes place in the evening the midnight of which will see her 
reach twenty-one. Time is therefore short, and it is hurry, hurry, 
hurry, if she is to become engaged and thus save her father from 
impending bankruptcy. 

The situations are intrinsically funny and the dialogue is sprightly. 
The characters are natural and unaffected and the action moves with 
a snap such as should be expected from its title. Price, 30 Cents. 

The Varsity Coach 

A three-act play of college life, by Marion Short, specially adapted 
to performance by amateurs or high school students. 5 males 6 
females, but any number of boys and girls may be introduced in the 
action of the play. Two settings necessary, a college boy’s room and 
the university campus. Time, about 2 hours. 

Like many another college boy, “Bob” Selby, an all-round popular 
college man, becomes possessed of the idea that athletic prowess is 
more to be desired than scholarship. He is surprised in the midst of 
a “spread” in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunt 
who is putting him through college. Aunt Serena, “a lady of the old 
school and the dearest little woman in the whole world,” has hastened 
to make this visit to her adored nephew under the mistaken impression 
that he is about to receive the Fellowes prize for scholarship. Her 
grief and chagrin when she learns that instead of the prize Robert 
has received “a pink card,” which is equivalent to suspension for poor 
scholarship, gives a touch of pathos to an otherwise jolly comedy of 
college life. How the repentant Robert more than redeems himself, 
carries off honors at the last, and in the end wins Ruth, the faithful 
little sweetheart of the “Pr®m” and the classroom, makes a story of 
dramatic interest and brings out very clearly certain phases of modern 
college life. There are several opportunities for the introduction of 
college songs and “stunts.” Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free of Request 



4 


The Return of Hi Jinks 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short, author of “The Varsity 
Coach," “The Touch-Down," etc. 6 males, 8 females. Costumes 
modern. One interior scene. 

This comedy is founded upon and elaborated from a farce comedy 
in two acts written by J. H. Horta, and originally produced at Tuft’s 
College. 

Hiram Poynter Jinks, a Junior in Hoosic College (Willie Collier 
type), and a young moving picture actress (Mary Pickford type), are 
the leading characters in this lively, modern farce. 

Thomas Hodge, a Senior, envious of the popularity of Jinks, wishes 
to think up a scheme to throw ridicule upon him during a visit of 
the Hoosic Glee Club to Jinks’s home town. Jinks has obligingly acted 
as a one-day substitute in a moving picture play, in which there is a 
fire scene, and this gives Hodge his cue. He sends what seems to 
be a bona fide account of Jink’s heroism at a Hoosic fire to Jink’s 
home paper. Instead of repudiating his laurels as expected, Jinks 
decides to take a flyer in fame, confirms the fake story, confesses to 
being a hero and is adored by all the girls, to the chagrin and dis- 
comfiture of Hodge. Of course, the truth comes out at last, but 
Jinks is not hurt thereby, and his romance with Mimi Mayflower 
comes to a successful termination. 

This is a great comedy for amateurs. It is full of funny situations 
and is sure to please. Price, 30 Cents. 


June 

A most successful comedy-drama in four acts, by Marie Doran, 
author of “The New Co-Ed," “Tempest and Sunshine," “Dorothy’s 
Neighbors,” etc. 4 males, 8 females. One interior scene. Costumes 
modern. Plays 2 l /$ hours. 

This play has a very interesting group of young people. June is 
an appealing little figure, an orphan living with her aunt. There are 
a number of delightful, life-like characters: the sorely tried likeable 
Mrs. Hopkins, the amusing, haughty Miss Banks of the glove depart- 
ment, the lively Tilly and Milly, who work in the store, and ambitious 
Snoozer ; Mrs. Hopkins’s only son, who aspires to be President of the 
United States, but finds his real sphere is running the local trolley 
car. The play is simplicity itself in the telling of an every-day story, 
and the scenic requirements call for only one set, a room in the 
boarding house of Mrs. Hopkins, while an opportunity is afforded to 
introduce any number of extra characters. Musical numbers may be 
introduced, if desired. Price, 30 Cents. 


Tempest and Sunshine 

A comedy drama in four acts, by Marie Doran. 5 males and 3 
females. One exterior and three interior scenes. Plays about 2 hours 

Every school girl has revelled in the sweet , simplicity and gentle- 
ness of the characters interwoven in the charms that Mary 1 Holmes 
commands in her story of “Tempest and Sunshine.” We can strongly 
recommend this play as one of the best plays for high school pro- 
duction published in recent years. Pr.ce, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject tc Royalty When Produced) 


SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 Vest 38th Street, New York City 

New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue . 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


